


Walk Me Home in the Dead of Night

by CaliforniaQueen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Reylo, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gingerflower, Gingerrose - Freeform, Grief/Mourning, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Minor Character Death, Organized Crime, Pining, Wakes & Funerals, killed in the line of duty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaQueen/pseuds/CaliforniaQueen
Summary: Rose is on a downward spiral after her sister, Detective Paige Tico, was killed in the line of duty. She reluctantly becomes involved with Detective Hux, her sister’s former partner who, like Rose, believes Paige’s death may not be an accident.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	Walk Me Home in the Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TINA18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TINA18/gifts).



The sun beats down, blistering and unrelenting, already radiating oppressive heat at ten am, with no breeze or clouds to dot the pure, blue summer sky. A small crowd surrounds a flag-draped casket—the few family members of the fallen able to shield themselves from the sun’s rays under the perimeter of the pop-up tent protecting the gravesite. The rest of the attendees are left to endure the elements, thankful for or cursing their lack of sunscreen application. 

The cheap Walmart tent’s blue fabric reminds Rose Tico of the same ones they used to use when she and her sister, Paige, swam competitively during summers as children. Their parents would cart them from city to city every Saturday for months, hauling coolers of snacks and drinks, folding chairs, and their enthusiasm for Paige’s aquatic prowess. Every heat ribbon, first-place medal, and even the elusive championship trophy of Paige’s still held a place of honor in their mother’s curio cabinet all these years later. Rose was always lucky to make it across the length of the pool without sinking like a stone. She put her foot down after her third year of unimpressive stats, choosing instead to sit quietly with her books, more often than not sulking under the cursed pop-up tents every Saturday while Paige swam on to success.

Rose shuffles uncomfortably on the folding chair provided for those closest to the action, lifting her thighs off of the sweaty plastic and trying to discreetly pull her black skirt down from where it had hiked up when she sat. Her mind wanders back to one swim meet Saturday, sitting and trying to read a library book, fighting the heat nap threatening to pull her under, as Paige dumped a full bottle of water down her back. She had fiercely lost her temper then but finds she wouldn’t mind it so much right now. The sweat trickling down her back in her body’s vain attempt at regulating her temperature is a poor comparison. She briefly wonders how much longer all of this will be and if she’ll have time to visit the community pool for a dip before it closes, then immediately feels guilty. Her eyes slide to her mother on her right in a fearful glance, worried that her thoughts may have betrayed her. 

It doesn’t take long to realize her thoughts are safe from her mother, who is sitting and staring at something none of them can see, paying no attention to Rose or anyone else around her. In another life, a surly, put-out Rose would have huffed in irritation, used to the dismissal, but irritated nonetheless. Today she feels no animosity toward her mother—she takes in the sight of the frail woman, detached from the world around her, eyes glazed from the sedative her husband and doctor urged her to take. She swallowed it down obediently, welcoming the brief respite from having to feel the loss of one daughter and the need of the one left behind. She sits and stares and waits—for what, Rose isn’t sure. 

She would probably feel more for her mother if she had not swiped one or two of the little white pills to have for herself, just to take the edge off. Hoping for numb, unfeeling dissociation to get through the day, she had to settle for groggy and distracted, once again cursing the fact that her body makeup—and apparently drug tolerance—was more like her father’s than her diminutive mother. So she sits in stony silence, her face an accidental mask of boredom, not entirely out of it like her mother, but just not caring enough to keep everything in check.

The sound of someone saying her name jerks her back to the present, and she focuses on the minister, no longer babbling platitudes. 

“...her sister Rose, mother, and father, thank you all for coming.”

Rose attempts to make herself smaller in her seat as she feels all eyes trained on her and her parents. She wishes she could have sat somewhere in the back, wishes she could hide, wishes she didn’t have to be put on display and feel the sorrow and pity boring into the back of her overheated neck. 

There is a bustle of movement, and she has a hard time tracking what is going on until she sees the honor guard walk in-step toward the casket, taking their places with practiced, precise movements. Rose watches, fascinated as the uniformed men and women move like the gears of a clock with a steady purpose. She vaguely notices a low whine of bagpipes as a group of pipers start the obligatory “Amazing Grace” while the guard begins the process of folding the flag on top of the casket. 

Fold, crease, fold, crease, the flag moves in a type of assembly line, down the row of white gloves until it reaches the end of the casket, primly folded into an isosceles triangle of white stars on blue like a child’s drawing of the night sky. Rose forces back a chuckle with a cough as she thinks about how perfect Paige always had to have her bed made just so and her shirts and sweaters folded with a special board to fit them in clean stacks in her dresser drawers. It tickles something inside Rose to know that Paige would have delighted in how clean and sharp her peers’ flag-folding skills are. 

Commands ring out solid and clear, and before she knows it, Rose is startled by the first of three sharp cracks of gunfire at the end of the pipers’ song. Her eyes squeeze shut at the sound, her mind fighting not to be pulled under as she grasps to the only thought she can hold on to. 

You don’t hear the shot that kills you. 

She doesn’t know if it’s true or false, nor does she know if she  _ wants _ it to be true or false as far as Paige is concerned. She only knows that for her, it’s a cold, hard lie. Each blast is a shot to her heart until there is nothing left of what Rose used to be. She’s just as dead to the world as her sister. 

When the last bit of noise fades into nothingness, her eyes fly open, sensing movement around her. She notes the flag in the hands of who she supposes is Paige’s boss. He turns slowly on his heels and begins to roll-step his way towards them, the finality of each smooth footfall echoing the slow thump of Rose’s heartbeat, signaling the end of it all. A flash of movement in the distance distracts her, and she sees him. 

Armitage Hux.

Paige’s former partner. The reason for all of this pomp and ceremony stands at attention, face bright red with heat, or tears, or because of his ruddy complexion, Rose doesn’t know or care. She glares at him, disgusted that he’s even there, that they assigned him as her family’s  _ liaison  _ for this whole horrible affair; he's a constant reminder of everything they’ve lost. She wants nothing more than to rake her nails down his face, to bite and claw and hurt. To take something, anything, away from him that could measure up to Paige. She doubts he has anything in his life that special. Not anymore.

He said it was an accident. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He tried to save her. 

She said she doesn’t believe it. 

One thing she does believe—that she can feel in the marrow of her bones—is that the tall, red-haired man in full dress uniform, watching as they hand the folded flag to her weeping mother, is the reason they are all here today.

As far as Rose is concerned, Armitage Hux can go straight to hell.

It’s later, at the reception in her parents’ home, that he has the audacity to speak to Rose. She and her father had just finished putting her mother to bed. The day was too much for her, even with the antidepressant safety net. Everyone was understanding, not expecting her to greet family, friends, and strangers as they traipsed through her modest home. Rose never understood the custom of playing hostess after burying a loved one. It seemed at odds with the very nature of the whole day. That responsibility now falls on Rose, so she accepts her fate with a reluctant sigh. 

She’s headed downstairs, hoping to get herself a glass of whatever alcohol they have in the house, not caring about the brand, type, or taste. She knows washing down Xanax with alcohol is not the best idea, but she figures it’s been a while, and the pills are in her system, and first responders surround her, so what the hell. She’s almost made it to the table of food and drink when she hears a soft voice call her name. 

“Rose?”

She turns to see him standing there, towering at least a foot over all five foot two inches of her, his cover removed and his strawberry blonde locks combed neatly to the side. She’s not used to seeing him in a formal dress uniform, only ever in suits or in casual attire when he’d attend family functions, never having his own family to be with on holidays. He’d become a permanent fixture in the Tico household during the three years of his and Paige’s partnership, serving as an honorary annoying older brother through Rose’s last years of college. The family had accepted him as one of their own, the son and brother they’d never had. Now he was like an out of place piece of furniture—one you can’t help but stub your toe on every time you pass by it. Rose’s stomach tightens, and her dark eyes flash as they meet the emerald green staring back at her. 

“What the fuck do you want?” she snaps, any pretense of hospitality thrown out the window. She was too tired to pretend anymore. 

He startles, taken aback at the vehemence in her voice, her body coiled like a panther ready to spring on its prey. 

“I—I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, quietly. His eyes have a haunted look to them, and Rose notices the soft purple flesh underneath, exposing his fatigue. For all his poise and stiff upper lip, he is obviously losing sleep over what has happened. She tries to harden herself against feeling anything but hatred for him but finds that she’s too tired to do that, either. She sighs and closes her eyes, rubbing at the burgeoning ache in her forehead. 

“Fine. Talk.”

“Can we go somewhere a bit more private?” he says, his voice almost too low to hear over the ambient noise of polite conversation bouncing off the faded floral wallpaper. 

Without a word, Rose turns towards the kitchen, through the door to the backyard, only looking back once to ensure he is following her. He closes the door behind him and observes her as she stands, arms crossed in a defensive pose, not quite meeting his steady gaze. 

“What do you want?” she says again. There is no more fight left in her. She’s overheated, overwhelmed, exhausted. She sounds petulant and annoyed, like a child forced to clean their room before being allowed to watch television.

His heart hurts to look at her—to see the features that look so much like those of his lost partner. This woman, who has been like a kid sister to him, now keeps him at arms’ length when all he wants to do is comfort her, hold her, and tell her how sorry he is. Only she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. It hurts almost more than losing Paige—he’s not sure why. 

“I have something for you,” he says, reaching into his pocket to bring out a small cloth bag tied with a ribbon. 

“I don’t want or need anything from you, Armitage,” she snaps, and he has to squeeze his fists and bite his tongue to keep from lashing out. 

_ I lost her too, Rose! _

Instead, he shakes his head and tries a different approach. “Paige asked me to give this to you before—“ he stops, not wanting to relive anything about that day. “She asked me to give this to you in case—“ 

He can’t seem to finish a thought. It’s like it will close the book on everything. Make it final. It’s taking all his strength to be here with Rose, now, knowing this may be the last time he sees her. 

“What is it?” Rose asks, rescuing him from continuing, curious but wary of anything he has to give her. 

“Here,” he says, handing her the bag. 

Rose takes it, judging the weight of it in her hand. It’s not heavy but delicate—soft, translucent, and pink, just like something Paige would own. Not like Rose, with all her mismatched, rough edges. She fingers the ribbon before pulling it to untie the bow and let the bag fall open in her palm. Inside is something she would never have expected to see, and her already broken heart shatters to pieces all over the patches of dry grass under the relentless summer sun. 

***

“Rosie, come here,” Paige calls from her room. “I have something for you.”

Rose shuffles along the carpeted hallway, past the school photos of her and her big sister hung on the walls showing their transformation over the years. She spies the last one of Paige. Her eighth-grade photo. Glossy black hair, rosy cheeks, eyes so dark and sparkling you could get lost in them. It’s no wonder she’s the most popular girl in school. Rose is thankful Paige will be moving on to high school just as Rose is entering sixth grade at the middle school. Having to compete with Paige for attention is hard enough at home; doing it at school, too, would be downright exhausting. 

“Whaddya want?” she says, sliding in through the open door. Paige is sitting on her bed, settled into the puffy comforter like a bird on a nest. 

“I said I have something for you. Come sit down.”

Rose plops on the bed in response to the invitation. She’s trying to maintain a calm facade, but inside she’s thrilled to be getting attention from Paige that isn’t about hogging the television or making her late for swim practice. 

Paige smiles at her, a small dimple peeking from her cheek, and holds out her hand. Resting in her palm is what looks like a round coin, almost like the yin-yang symbols they like to draw on their notebooks in class. One side is distressed gold with intricate carvings, while the other is nearly identical, in distressed silver. Paige wiggles her hand, and Rose can see it’s not a coin but two pieces, each with an attached black ribbon. She raises her eyebrows and looks up at her sister. 

“What are they? Where’d you get ‘em?”

“I saw them in a shop on our field trip today. They made me think of us. So I bought them. This one’s for you.” She took the silver half of the medallion, placing it over Rose’s head and kissing her on the cheek. Rose stares down at it, confusion and delight at war inside her.

“You spent your field trip money on me?” she whispers. 

“And me too,” Paige states, slipping the gold piece over her head. “The salesman said they represent two parts of a whole. That’s us. Two parts of the same heart.” She pinches Rose’s cheek, blushed pink with happiness. Rose squirms at her sister’s sentiment. 

“Why are you being so mushy?” 

“Because I love you, kid. I know we don’t always get along, but it’s just gonna be you and me one day. We need to remember to always be there for each other no matter what. So you have your reminder,” she says, touching Rose’s medallion, “and I have mine,” she finishes, touching hers next.

“I’m just gonna do something to piss you off, and you’ll be mad at me again.”

“Don’t say piss,” Paige scolds before agreeing with Rose. “And you’re probably right. But now, you have this, so you know that no matter how mad we get, or how far apart we are, we will always have each other. Sound good?”

“I guess,” Rose replies with a shrug. 

“Good. Now hug me.”

“Ugh, fine,” Rose huffs as Paige pulls her into an embrace, complete with tickles and giggles.

***

Rose runs her thumb over the tarnished golden medallion in her hand, bringing her other up automatically to finger its other half resting on her chest. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until a tear splashes onto the surface of the metal, jarring her out of her memory. 

“Paige,” she breathes out in a sigh, the weight of Rose’s world present in that single syllable. 

“She loved you so much, Rosie. I’m so so—“

“Don’t you dare,” Rose shouts, clutching the medallion so hard it hurts. The pain spurs her on—it’s all she seems to know now, and its familiarity gives her strength. “I don’t want to hear you’re sorry. It should be you, not her. It’s your fault, and I hate you!”

Hux’s eyes go wide with shock. “Please, Rosie, I swear I tried. I tried.”

“Well, it wasn’t good enough, was it? It will never be good enough. She’ll still be dead, and you’ll still be here. It’s not fair.” She stifles a sob with her hand, white-knuckled from still clutching Paige’s gift. “I don’t ever want to see you again. I think you should leave.”

“Rosie—“

“Goodbye, Armitage.”

He watches as she runs past him, knowing it’s the last time, hating himself for not being able to take away her pain. He feels nothing but loss; first Paige, now Rose, and by extension, the only people who have ever truly cared about him. Defeated, he places his hat on his head, squares his shoulders, and leaves the Tico house, his family, for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at GingerRose. The idea has been sitting with me for a while, and in a burst of inspiration I wrote this out. I will try to update as often as I can, but I am basically Dug the Dog when it comes to an attention span. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!


End file.
